


Let Go and Let John

by voxangelus



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BDSM, Fandom Trumps Hate, Johncroft, M/M, Pre-Canon, but no real smut, floggers, they're in their mid-twenties, this is way overdue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-06-13 00:25:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15352152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voxangelus/pseuds/voxangelus
Summary: Mycroft is a tightly-wound twentysomething. Unwinding is, well, next to impossible.





	Let Go and Let John

**Author's Note:**

> This is a FTH 2017 (yes, dear god, I am so late) gift for eys93 over on LiveJournal. i had the hardest time getting through it, but it's finally done and I hope it pleases.

As a rule, Mycroft Holmes did not frequent nightclubs, no matter what crowd they catered to. The noise, the people, the inability to get quickly to an exit if things went south - his training all too present in the forefront of his mind to truly enjoy himself. On the rare occasion that he broke his rule, he most certainly did not dance. He stood to the side, or sat at the bar. He watched other people dance, and that bit of casual voyeurism was usually enough excitement for the young government operative in his off hours. Usually. Tonight, though, he was looking to further engage. 

He’d chosen a gay club, one that was in the middle of the spectrum from posh to seedy. Respectable enough - for a gay club - but it also had a slight air of the disreputable about it. Just enough to have interesting patrons instead of the spoilt pretty boys hell bent on spending mummy and daddy’s money that one encountered at the high-end places. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for this evening, just that he’d know him when he saw him. He cast an eye over the crowd as he sat at the bar nursing a martini and dismissed most of the men he saw on what would seem to others to be completely random criteria. That one was too tall and pale, almost sickly. Another seemed suitable on first glance, but then turned out to be a terrible dancer. Oh, but there - shorter, compact yet strong, golden tan and short blond hair. Unassuming at first glance, but there was a sort of steel in his bearing that Mycroft knew spoke of military training. He might do very nicely. 

Mycroft’s chosen target was drinking steadily, but only lager - so he was here to enjoy himself rather than just get pissed - so Mycroft caught the bartender’s attention and told him the next round would be on him. He didn’t have long to wait before the blond came off the dance floor and made his way to the bar to order another. When the bartender refused his money and pointed Mycroft out, he raised his glass in thanks and gave him a cheeky smile before venturing back into the crowd. Mycroft was just fine with that. He was patient. He could wait. 

He sipped at his drink as he observed the dance floor, eyes continually drawn to the handsome young man in the middle of the crowd. He seemed to be surrounded by friends, completely comfortable in his skin and fully in his element. His snug jeans and skin-tight navy tee shirt did nothing to hide the sinuous lines of his body, which Mycroft suspected was the point. Truly, the man was a joy to watch as he danced and Mycroft couldn’t tear his eyes away. A couple of songs later, the blond glanced up and caught Mycroft looking, and he grinned. No, it was more of a smirk - a knowing smirk. Refusing to be cowed, Mycroft raised an eyebrow and took a sip of his drink, keeping eye contact. He doubted he’d have much longer to wait. 

The music shifted to a slower beat and the blond shimmied out of the reach of the man he’d been dancing with, instead weaving through the crowd toward the bar - and Mycroft. 

Mycroft resisted the urge to sit up straighter, instead remaining in the slightly slouched, relaxed posture he’d adopted for the evening as the blond approached. He didn’t want to appear too eager. Appear. He was exceedingly eager to find out how much more work he’d have to do to win the other man over. He hope it wouldn’t be too much, but he was more than willing to make the effort even if it were arduous; it had been far too long since he’d touched another human being of his own free will. 

“Hello there,” said the blond, as he stood next to Mycroft at the bar. “Ta very much for the drink.” 

Mycroft turned toward him, nodding smoothly. “You’re welcome, certainly,” he replied, loud enough to be heard over the music. 

The blond looked him over, then stuck out his hand. “Cheers. I’m John.” 

“Myc,” he said, shaking his hand. “How firmly committed to your friends are you this evening?”

“These lads? Not at all. Blokes from uni, ran into them on the way in. So... wanna dance?” John asked, nodding toward the floor. 

“I like watching you, but I don’t dance. If you come home with me, you won’t be disappointed, however.” 

He found himself on the business end of a piercing gaze, knowing he was being assessed. He hoped John wouldn’t find him lacking. 

“You’re a madman. Who does that? Respond to an invitation to dance with an invitation to another sort of dance entirely? You’re either as talented as you think or your ego is the size of the empire,” John said, an unbelieving laugh escaping him. 

Mycroft shrugged. “I'm a man who knows what he wants. At the present time, that happens to be you. If you’re not interested, than please do enjoy the drink and have a nice time with your friends.” 

John perched on the barstool next to him, leaning in close. “Oh, I never said I wasn’t interested. I could be. I like cocky boys. Like to put them in their place.” 

Mycroft suddenly felt out of his depth, sitting there, bass booming and thudding through his body and John - this handsome, witty soldier - purring in his ear. 

“Your friends won’t mind?” he asked, to be sure, glancing over at the group of them, oblivious to anything but their dancing. 

“This lot? Only been pushing me to find a shag all evening, haven’t they? Soldier boy on leave and all that.” 

Tossing enough cash on the bar to cover his tab and likely more besides, Mycroft took John’s hand and led him out into the cool spring night and right into one of the cabs waiting there for clubgoer fares. He gave the driver his address and settled back against the seat, still clasping John’s hand in his. 

“How long?” John asked, sitting close, thighs touching. Mycroft could feel the heat of him through both of their trousers. “Until we get to yours, I mean. I want to know how much longer I have to wait to kiss you, because I’m not going to take it slow once I do.” 

Oh. Oh my. Mycroft licked his lips and glanced over at him. “Fifteen minutes, perhaps. Can you contain yourself that long?”

“Barely. But I will. I don’t want the cabbie putting us out halfway,” John murmured. 

“Mmm, no. That would be unfortunate. I can wait if you can. I’ve wanted my hands on your body since I saw you dancing. Those jeans are utter distraction, I hope you know. Did you paint them on?” 

Laughing, John shook his head. “No, but near enough. I’ve gained a great deal of muscle in my thighs thanks to the rigours of military life. Even being a medic, I have to do the same PT as everyone else. These are from before boot camp.”

“Thank fuck for boot camp,” Mycroft muttered, loosening his tie. 

“Oh, I like you, Myc. This is going to be fun.” He squeezed Mycroft’s hand but didn’t let go. 

The remainder of the ride passed in small talk and teasing chatter, and soon enough the cab was stopped in front of Mycroft's home. 

“Jesus,” John said as they climbed out. “You’re proper posh, aren’t you?” 

“Not as much as you’d think. Eldest child of eccentric landed gentry genius mother, successful barrister father - this is due to my own work, which I mostly lucked into by having the right combination of interests and abilities,” he explained as he led John up the steps and unlocked the door. He took a deep breath and pushed it open only to immediately be crowded into the foyer by John, who shut the door with his foot and backed Mycroft up against it. Mycroft gasped, surprised, but went willingly. 

“I won’t do anything you don’t want. Tell me to stop and I will. I expect the same consideration from you,” John said, firmly. “Agreed?” The difference in their heights would be comical, if not for the sheer aura of command exuding from John. 

“God, yes. Agreed,” Mycroft said quickly, happy to give that promise. As soon as the words were out of his mouth, John’s mouth was on his, his hands fisted in the lapels of Mycroft’s jacket. Although he kissed with intent, John seemed to be in no rush to push any further just yet, and Mycroft gave in to the desire to touch, sliding his hands down John’s sides to rest on his hips, fingertips edging under the hem of John’s shirt. For the first time in his life, he was seriously contemplating getting fucked up against his front door. He just wanted to touch John everywhere, but his room and bed seemed so far away. He whined, frustrated, into the kiss, not even realizing he’d done so. 

Laughing, John pulled back just the slightest amount. “Not that I don’t appreciate the solid strength of your front door, but I have to assume you have a bed around here somewhere,” he murmured into Mycroft’s ear, smoothing his lapels back down. “I want to see you,” he kissed just behind Mycroft’s ear, “touch you... taste you,” he continued, trailing kisses down Mycroft’s jaw and back to his lips. 

Mycroft was used to having control in all aspects of his life. He always gave direction; naturally most of his sexual encounters involved him topping from the bottom. Most people talked a big game, but John seemed willing and able to actually play, willing to wrest control from Mycroft if necessary. 

Mycroft was willing to give it - but not without a fight. He wanted John to put him in his place, needed that challenge met. 

“Upstairs,” he managed to reply, between kisses. “Last door on the left.” 

John didn’t reply, just took his hand and led him up his own stairs, then let Mycroft guide him down the hall to his bedroom door. At least he’d been expecting to bring someone home, so everything was tidy - not that Mycroft thought John would really notice, as intent as he seemed on getting him into bed. 

“This works better when you take your clothes off,” John suggested, stepping back from him. “That suit looks expensive, I don’t want to wrinkle it too much.” 

Mycroft shrugged out of his jacket and laid it across the dresser, turning around to face John as he further loosened his tie and slipped it off, letting it join the jacket. “And what about your clothes, John? Not that they leave much to the imagination.” 

John snorted, crossing his arms over his chest. “For that, I ought to keep them on and just let you wonder, you cheeky little shit.” 

Smirking, Mycroft worked on unbuttoning his shirt. “Well, if that’s what you want. You don’t need to have your clothes off to do any of the things you mentioned downstairs. I’m fairly certain you can touch, taste, and kiss every inch of me without removing so much as a boot.” Oh, he was having fun - not that he hadn’t been before, but this? The banter, the teasing, the lead up - he craved this stimulation as much as anything physical that would come after. He let his shirt fall to the floor and started in on his belt.   
“Oh, it’d be polite to at least take my boots off. Or perhaps you’ll do it for me. After all, I don’t want to muddy up your pristine white duvet. You seem to be a fastidious sort of man, Myc - I don’t think you’d appreciate that very much,” said John, sitting down on the edge of the bed, still watching Mycroft disrobe. 

At the mention of taking John’s boots off for him, Mycroft bit his lip. He usually wasn’t terribly interested in that kind of service, but something about John made him want to try it, if John made the effort to convince him to do so. “I admit I do like things neat and tidy for the most part,” he agreed, “but I think a boot-print or two on my duvet is well worth it in a situation like this.” He tugged the belt from the loops on his trousers, coiling it and putting on the dresser next to his tie.

With hungry and wanting eyes, John watched. Perhaps his gaze lingered on the belt for a moment, but Mycroft might have been imagining it. Ever since John had stepped into his space at the club Mycroft was craving a rougher touch than he normally would go looking for. 

“There is something to be said for you removing your clothing as well,” Mycroft went on, moving near the bed, within arm’s reach of John. “After all, how can I possibly touch, taste, and kiss every bit of you in return unless we’re both similarly nude?” He trailed his fingers along John’s shoulders and upper arms, standing there with his trousers unbuttoned and unzipped, but still hanging from his hips. 

John smirked, reaching out to grab Mycroft by the hips. “That’s... yeah. That’s a good observation,” he replied, pulling him close, right between his legs. “But let me see you first, gorgeous. Don’t stop there.” He let go, gesturing to Mycroft that he should get on with it. 

Mycroft knelt where he was and removed his shoes and socks, then stood and stepped out of his trousers and pants, leaving him completely nude in contrast to John’s fully-clad form. Already hard just from the snogging and the sheer anticipation of it all, Mycroft was comfortable in his own skin, he didn’t try to hide nor display himself to his best advantage. 

“So the freckles do go all the way down,” John murmured, tracing a line from Mycroft’s sternum to his navel. “Fucking beautiful.”

“Not what I usually hear,” Mycroft quipped.

John scoffed, “then you’re not hearing from the right people. God, _look_ at you. All long and lean, and those legs? They’re endless.”

Mycroft smirked. “Oh, nonsense. They end right here,” he replied, gesturing to his hips. 

“Yeah, they do,” John muttered, distracted for a moment. 

“Not that I don’t understand your distraction, John, but my eyes are up here,” he said, bracing his hands on John’s knees and leaning down. 

That managed to redirect John’s attention, and he grasped Mycroft’s wrists with a quiet laugh. “That they are. Not that you didn't know exactly what you were doing there,” he murmured into Mycroft’s ear. “But yes, they do end and I’m very interested in getting to know that particular location on your body - but first, I would like you to take my boots off.” 

Some part of Mycroft wanted to make John work harder for that privilege, but oh, how he wanted to see more of his skin, see if that tan extended past his arms and neck. He wanted to touch John as much as he wanted to be touched by him. So he nodded, kneeling there on the floor before him. John released his wrists and leaned back to better watch. He hoped the other man would be satisfied with just simple removal - he didn’t keep a bootblacking kit around although he certainly had the accoutrements scattered here and there for taking care of his shoes if needed. 

Mycroft loosened the laces on both boots before pulling them off slowly and setting them near the end of the bed where they wouldn’t be tripped over. “Socks as well?” he asked, looking up at John, who nodded, and so he removed those as well, tucking them into the tops of the boots. Nothing worse than trying to find your socks post-assignation. He slid his hands up John’s calves over his jeans, waiting for his next command. He was absolutely going to make John work for anything else. 

John pulled his shirt over over his head and cast it aside, and oh yes, the tan did go all the way down. Visions of a sweat-slicked and bare-chested John in the desert threatened to overwhelm Mycroft’s senses for a moment - but there was no reason he couldn’t have that vision come alive right here in his bedroom.

“Get up, Mycroft. Lie down on the bed on your stomach, please.” 

It seemed the jeans were staying put for now, but Mycroft couldn't’ deny John made an incredibly appealing picture wearing nothing but the snug denim. He got to his feet and made himself comfortable across the bed, head pillowed on his arms. “The left-hand table should have anything you might want,” he offered. “Toys, condoms, lube, things of that nature.” 

“Oh, I don’t want any of that now, but ta for the heads-up,” John said, a tinge of appreciative amusement in his voice. “I believe I told you I wanted to kiss every inch of your body, and I mean to make a valiant effort.” 

Mycroft shivered, looking back over his shoulder at John. “Well... by all means,” he said, “be my guest.” 

John leaned down and kissed the back of Mycroft’s calf. “Thank you for the clear consent,” he replied. “Now, be quiet and be still, unless you’re moaning my name or begging for more.” 

Oh. Yes, he could follow that command. He closed his eyes and did his best to just let himself feel. It always proved difficult to relax and enjoy, no matter the skill or demeanour of his partner. Too many variables for his brain to assess to truly let go. It was one of the main reasons he rarely made the attempt to connect with others and why he attempted to remain in control when he did bother. He’d gone off his pattern with John. Thus far, he was pleased. And whatever John was currently doing to the inside of his ankle with his mouth was proving sufficient to distract him from his thoughts. Mycroft hummed, intentionally relaxing into the comfort of the bed and the warmth of John’s body at his back. 

Truly, he was the best sort of tease, trailing lips and tongue up the back of Mycroft’s legs, veering just shy of the crease where thigh met arse before switching to the other leg and working his way back down. It didn’t tickle, the touches were too firm for that, but it was more arousing than Mycroft had anticipated, and by the time John was back up higher, nipping at the inside of his upper thigh, he was trembling with the effort of staying still and to his mortification, whining. Not begging, not quite yet, but there was a distinct noise of want emanating from him. 

He felt more than heard John’s chuckle of amusement at the noises he was making, situated as he was. John continued his kissing up and over Mycroft’s arse, sticking to the roundness of his cheeks for the moment. 

“I bet people kiss your ass metaphorically all day, don’t they?” John asked. “I’d have to guess it’s not very often that it happens literally.” 

“Not half as often as I’d like,” Mycroft managed to mutter, shifting his hips against the bed to get some friction for his achingly hard cock. “In either scenario. Not quite powerful enough yet.” 

Nuzzling into the small of Mycroft’s back, John laughed, but didn't say anything more, too busy trying to kiss every freckle he saw. It was a hell of a job: There were constellations worth sprinkled across Mycroft’s skin. 

Mycroft’s earlier determination to make John really work for his submission melted away with each kiss and caress. He revelled in the sensations both physical and mental as he skirted the edge of subspace. John really did seem determined to kiss every freckle and it was all too easy to lose himself in the sensation of the other man’s soft lips meandering across his skin. 

“I had no idea it was going to be this easy to get you to go down for me,” John murmured into his ear, having just left off the freckles across his shoulders. “Thought you’d put up more resistance considering the suit and the attitude.” 

“Mmm, you’ve found my weakness,” Mycroft mumbled, a pleasant shiver running through him at John’s voice in his ear. “A little careful handling, a little tenderness...” 

“Which everyone needs from time to time,” John said, affirming that desire. “Even posh City boys with important jobs.” 

Mycroft hummed, considering. “Even soldier boys?” 

John laughed, soft. “This soldier boy gets it by showing that careful attention to others. Don’t worry about me, Myc. I’m very happy where I am at the moment.” 

“Good. Want us both to have a good time,” Mycroft replied, closing his eyes and settling in for whatever John had in store for him next. He trusted him as much as one could trust someone they’d just picked up for the night and he was damned well going to enjoy that. 

“Not sure I’ve kissed every inch of you, but you seem pretty relaxed. Speak up if you don’t like anything I’m doing, but otherwise just relax and enjoy,” John said, and then Mycroft felt him move away, and the sound of the side table drawer and door opening along with John’s whistle of appreciation at the contents within. He turned his head to see what he would choose, and a frisson of anticipation ran down his spine at the sight of the twin short-handled floggers in John’s hand. 

God, yes. He loved those, the soft doeskin tails that could caress or sting, depending on how they fell and the talent of the person wielding them. He closed his eyes, sweet anticipation settling in the pit of his stomach. He wasn’t disappointed when John started in with the whips; even, rhythmic strokes with one in each hand, a perfect warm up to whatever he might have planned next. Mycroft was past trying to figure it out - he was just going to _feel_. 

Sweet heat bloomed on his skin where the tails struck, John wielding the floggers expertly. A flick of his wrist now and then overlaid the building warmth with a sharp bite of bright pain and Mycroft couldn’t help but moan. He hadn’t let himself hope for finding someone for the night who knew what they were doing around the implements he so enjoyed. A bit of rough handling, certainly - easy enough to find. What other talents John was hiding beneath that deceptively calm and charming demeanour?

“If you think any louder, Myc, the entire street will hear it,” John admonished, flicking him with the ends of the tails, stinging. 

Mycroft knew his cheeks were red, embarrassed to be caught out overthinking. “Habit, and a hard one to break. It’s hard to let go and just trust someone.” 

“If you can trust that how I’ve treated you so far is how I’ll continue to, that’s all I need. Let me take care of you for tonight, Myc. You’re wound so tight. Let me help you,” John replied, trailing one of the floggers teasingly along his spine. 

He could trust him with that much. Yes, that was something Mycroft could do. Judging on John’s conduct so far, it was a safe call to make. “Yes, John,” he murmured. 

John murmured something in approval, but Mycroft couldn’t hear specifics. He closed his eyes and let himself sink fully into the sensations John was producing with the whips. He lost track of how long he lay there, letting the heat bloom across his skin, the pain pushing everything else aside. When he next looked up, John was covered in a fine sheen of perspiration, breathing heavy, the floggers set aside on the table. 

“Jesus, Myc. I could see the moment you surrendered. It was like a rubber band snapping. Thank you for giving me that,” he said reverently. He swept Mycroft’s sweat-soaked hair from his face with a gentle hand. 

Mycroft couldn’t manage much more than a quiet hum of agreement, pushing his head into the caress. 

John laughed, continuing the petting. “A ringing endorsement if I ever heard one. Ready for more, or ready for sleep?”

Now that? That Mycroft had an answer for. “I swear if you don’t get inside me ten minutes ago I will kick you out the door with nothing but the clothing currently on your body,” he said. 

“Can’t have that. I just got those boots broken in.” 

 

It said a great deal, Mycroft thought, that he woke up the next morning tangled up with John like a couple of puppies in a basket. He hadn’t summarily kicked him out after everything, and John hadn’t made to leave. It couldn’t last, no, but perhaps while John was on leave it could be... something. 

 

Something might be lovely, indeed.


End file.
